Sinking as the Light Wind Lives or Dies
by TearThisCanvas
Summary: Blaine Anderson travels from school to school, teaching English and seducing teenage boys. But of course, it all changes once he reaches McKinley High. AU Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

**Thanks to my amazing beta thiscanvasskin on tumblr!**

Some people collected virginities, but it wasn't like that. Blaine just liked... he liked showing them that he wasn't all he appeared to be - he wasn't what they originally had him pegged as. He wanted to show them that was much more than just an intelligent, articulate and damn sexy English teacher.

People just thought they knew him. They didn't know a damn thing.

He never stayed at one school for a very long. He chose one student per school and there was no way that he _could _stay for long. That would be far too nice to the student after he'd made them so dependent on him, after they'd handed all of themselves over to him. The way he worked was the cold turkey technique. He'd give them a night they'd never forget, and then he'd abandon them.

On his first day he'd scope out whatever senior class he'd been given, and there was always one. Always. Ice eyes, gorgeous skin and groomed hair. Jeff, the boy from his last school had been called. Blonde and beautiful and... trusting. The flirting was nothing noticeable. They were just subtle signs that ended up implanted in their minds letting them know that their teacher was actually, funnily enough, exactly their type. When he knew he'd made his mark in their head, he'd arrange to get them alone. After class, during lunch, somehow - and when they were alone with someone that they were programmed to fall for, there wasn't anything - law nor self-consciousness - that would stop them coming forward. Blaine would be willing yet hesitant - but charming, irresistible and their relationship would begin. He liked to keep a log, detailing the progress of this relationship, for the month or two that it lasted. It transformed the relationships from something illegal, into a fun little project. So maybe he wasn't a science teacher, but there was nothing wrong with experimenting, was there?

Their relationship naturally came to be more intimate over time, and that was when the fun really began. Dates that ended in make-out sessions in his car, or grinding when they got a spare ten minutes alone in the school. When he finally invited them over to his house for a whole night, he made sure they were ready for a lot more. It was usually their first time, and would definitely be their third, fourth and fifth, at least. The words sex marathon would probably be the most accurate to use, not that they'd ever really heard of such a thing at the ripe age of sixteen or seventeen; however, even if they hadn't by the end of the night they were experts. He'd work them so hard they couldn't see straight afterward. They'd always comply with his wishes, because of how much they cared for him. They knew he would never take advantage of them, that he would only move things at their pace, and that he would never make them uncomfortable. Blaine had a talent for making sure that they _were_ comfortable and ready, and they never complained. Unless _Oh God, Blaine, more!_ was a complaint.

And after that night... Ah, after that night, and some sore, tender morning sex; Blaine would see them out of his apartment, and out of his life. Calls stopped, and he wouldn't return their texts. He'd call the school to say he was sorry for the abrupt notice, but he'd received a job offer elsewhere that was too good to miss. Coming from money meant he could easily take a couple of weeks off to find a new school and a new apartment, where the whole routine would start again.

It was an interest for him; something to do. Marriage, family, he would think about that when he was old. Right now he was young and fit and he had an infinite number of potential teenage lays at his feet. He'd never stopped to think about _why_ he did it, other than the fact that it was enjoyable as Hell. There was something about receiving the full, unbridled trust of a young boy and then shattering it. Leaving them lost without him, numb and empty with their virginities out the window and their idea of a healthy relationship warped. He liked having that impact over their life, their hearts. It was... nice.

Jeff had been a particularly good time. So open and naive for his age and absolutely stunning. He was putty in Blaine's hands from the start, easily manipulated in matters outside the bedroom and in. Blaine was, truth be told, a little sad to be leaving him, especially since his nature meant he had fallen for Blaine exceptionally quickly. But he wasn't in this game for love. That was down to the people who cared for long term engagements, and that wasn't him, not at all.

He remembered driving past Dalton on his way to his new place, when the boys were streaming out after class, and he caught a glimpse of Jeff, head down, eyes on his feet, hands in his pocket, several feet behind his friends. He looked positively shattered. It was beautiful.

He'd probably take a look back at Jeff's page in his diary in time, as he did with the rest of his conquests, but for now he had to concentrate on new things. His new start, his new life and most definitely his new student, at McKinley High.

**The title is taken from John Keats' poem _To Autumn._**


	2. Chapter 2

**Once again, many cheers and thanks to the glorious beta of this fic, thiscanvasskin.**

**And if you left a review last chapter then thank _you! _Reading peoples' words in response to something I've written is the most rewarding thing in the world for me, and I'm really grateful.**

'Blaine, I know you're at your new school now, but I have to tell you something.' Blaine was setting up his desk in his new classroom at McKinley when he received a call from the science teacher at Dalton. He didn't really like the guy, so he let it go to voicemail - he didn't really care about whatever "good luck at your new school" message he was leaving - but he'd finished getting his things out quicker than he'd thought, so he decided to use the couple of minutes before his class started to listen to the message before he deleted it. But when Mr. Lee's voice wasn't its usual brittle and insufferably chipper self, Blaine was intrigued.

'Jeff Hawthorne, from your English class, killed himself a couple of days ago. No-one knows why. I know you were close to him, so I just thought I should tell you. I hope your new job works out.' Blaine stared at the grain of his desk. Jeff had - no. _No_. That wasn't fair. Tears stung his eyes and he pressed his hand over them, gasping back a sob. He could almost feel his blood run cold.

There was no question that Jeff had killed himself because of Blaine. Because of the way he felt when Blaine had abandoned him.

It didn't work like that! They were left crumpled and torn and unable to trust but they weren't supposed to kill themselves. That wasn't fair. Then they were hurting everyone around them, and that wasn't the point.

He got up and, without looking at the class, headed out of the room. There was a bathroom across the hall, and he hurried inside. In there he gripped the edge of the sink, staring down the plughole, trying not to cry and failing. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Jeff's death had no direct effect on the running of his life, after he'd kicked him so fiercely out of it, but knowing that in Westerville, Jeff was being mourned by friends and family, parents who had to walk by an empty bedroom, a brother who would have to look elsewhere for someone to teach him to ride a bike - that was what made Blaine want to shrink himself down and drop himself in a drain. He knew what it was like to lose someone, and it wasn't fair.

He wasn't supposed to care what happened to his students after he left, anyway. He hadn't heard a thing from any of the others. But Jeff, the boy he'd spent six weeks kissing and touching, the vulnerable and trusting student he'd taken advantage of – he'd taken himself out of the world because of Blaine and that was enough to make even the most immoral bastard feel like the scum of the earth.

Blaine rubbed his forehead, agitated. He thought of the students sitting in his classroom. What did that mean, now? He didn't know how to be a teacher! He knew how to teach, sure, but with that came the flirting and affairs and sex and that was all that got him through the semester. And now, right now, he had to teach a class of seniors, with a fucked-up head and a severely altered agenda. He breathed deeply in and out a few times, trying to mentally prepare himself. Just teach. Just teach them, don't become attached to any of them, don't become _attracted_ to any of them, just - just do what good teachers did.

He stepped back from the sink, jumping up and down a couple of times. He willed the tears to go away, and waited until his face wasn't flushed anymore before turning and walking back to his classroom.

A charming smile appeared on his face as he opened the door.

And he looked straight into the eyes of Kurt Hummel.

Xx

Kurt had been disappointed yet again as he had walked down the corridor and encountered no smouldering Casanovas, armed with candy and love notes addressed to him, lined up by the lockers, but he knew that was silly to even daydream about that happening. He didn't like to think he was desperate for a boyfriend but the occasional long night did have him yearning for someone to snuggle. And the odd Lima Bean rendezvous did have him wishing there were two cups on his table. And the daily Glee club practises did make him want someone to dance with... Well, there was nothing wrong with wanting to be loved, right?

So it was dejectedly and resignedly that he walked into English class that day, glancing once at the unfamiliar being seated at the teacher's desk. He sat down, third row back, on the end, and took his pen out. Sometimes class helped him forget his perpetual loneliness, although, if this new teacher was anything like Ms. Chapman was, he would be forced to daydream himself into depression.

Xx

The boy was beautiful. Blaine blinked several times as he looked at the student, all coiffed hair, jewel eyes and flawless skin. Oh God, if it hadn't been for Jeff then Blaine would definitely be thinking about what the boy would look like in bed, screaming, flushed and writhing, but - oh, wait. He was thinking about that anyway. _Stay calm, Blaine, _he ordered himself mentally._ You're a teacher and you are not attracted to any of your students. Just teach them. Just. Teach. Them..._

Xx

Okay, this new teacher was nothing like Ms. Chapman. He was gorgeous _and_ smouldering, and all of those imaginary Casanovas rolled into one. Well, wasn't _that_ fate's way of answering his prayers in the least convenient way possible?

The teacher was looking at him, and Kurt blushed under his gaze. He looked down at his paper and picked up a pen, starting to sketch out a random shape in his margin. He chanced a quick look up at the teacher to see that he was still looking. Why was he staring? Had he already made up his mind that he hated Kurt? Had he never seen this shade of scarf before? Kurt looked around at his classmates, all of whom were eyeing the new teacher curiously.

Xx

Blaine knew he was staring. But he couldn't stop - he had been presented with a drop of heaven and if he looked away then all that would meet his eye would be something less exquisite, and that was painful. He never wanted to look at anything, ever again.

The boy stared back for a short while, eyes questioning and God, if Blaine needed any reminder why he usually fucked his students then this was a damn good one. He just looked so... innocent and young, but completely and totally floating feet above the rest of his classmates, he was an angel and his gaze was something precious that Blaine had to be grateful to have been under it.

It was only when the boy looked around that Blaine remembered _where_ he was and that although looking away might hurt, hey, this was a lesson and there were other, less attractive kids around.

Teach. Teach.

'Good morning, class!' His mouth formed the words for him and the students all looked surprised to hear him speak. 'My name is Mr. Anderson and I'll be helping you study The Merchant of Venice this semester.' He stood up, picking his book up from his desk and walked round to stand in front of them. This would be fine. He had an easy lesson planned. 'You'll all need to have a copy of the play by next week, but for now, I just want you to listen to this opening scene.'

He started to read to the class, keeping his eye trained on his book.

Because he couldn't do it. He couldn't seduce Kurt, could he? Now the possibility had entered his mind that damaging a student like he had been could have harsher consequences than he'd thought - and if he ever drove someone as heavenly as Kurt to harm themselves in any way, then there was no way he would ever be able to forgive himself.

Xx

Cool, fine, the teacher also had a voice like liquid sex. Kurt almost started pouting as he heard Mr. Anderson's chocolate voice wrapping around each line of pentameter. He didn't know why the man had been acting so weird at the beginning of the lesson, but now he had started the class it was irrelevant. He was enchanting.

And of course the first attractive, articulate and mature male Kurt had come across was a teacher. He sighed, slumping down in his seat a little. He could let himself enjoy Blaine for now, he decided, but he had to remember - the man was completely and totally out of bounds.


	3. Chapter 3

**This is but a filler chapter to shift the plot along a couple of millimetres until chapter 4 :) And although it isn't anything groundbreaking, this chapter is hereby dedicated to the beautiful Rejina, silenceistoofreakingloud, who is lurking in the Story Alerts and who I love very much. Happy birthday madam!**

'Okay, this lesson we're going to look at Shylock's monologue midway through the play. Here he feels as though he's been victimised relentlessly by all the Christians in the play and he tries to appeal to their sense of humanity while delivering a big fat threat. I want you all to think about the language he uses and the kind of pragmatics hidden behind it.' He began to read the monologue aloud.

Blaine was grateful that he'd already spent some time teaching this play in another school; otherwise he wouldn't have a leg to stand on. Since meeting the eyes of the angelic boy in the third row, he barely knew left from right, let alone how he might think of the most effective way to critically analyse a sonnet. Having lesson plans ready to use meant less of having to use the brain that was currently leaking out of his ears.

And Kurt was just wondering if it was always part of Shakespeare's plan to write such divine and poetic words so that kids in high school would become hopelessly aroused when they heard them read aloud. This was nothing like Kurt – he was _not _ruled by his hormones and he didn't need to shove his dick in something every night in order to function like a human being. But Mr. Anderson made him feel like a Neanderthal in the best way – he hadn't discovered fire yet but he was perfectly content just to sit back and stare with drool hanging out of his mouth. (Until he reminded himself sternly that Kurt Hummel did not drool, and God, did he want Mr. Anderson to think he was mentally deficient?) He didn't know why he sat up a little straighter in English class now or balanced the end of his pen on his lips as he watched Mr. Anderson talk; he knew that student-teacher relationships were forbidden, so flirting would – if _anything _– would only make him look like an idiot who put his studies behind his carnal desire for coitus.

'What do you guys think?' Mr. Anderson lowered the text and leaned back on his desk. He looked around the class and Kurt flushed warm as his eyes landed on him for a split second. 'Do you guys feel sorry for Shylock? Did he have it coming?' _Say something intelligent, Kurt. Impress him. Go on. _He put his hand up.

Blaine's stomach flipped violently as he saw the angel raise his hand. 'Yes –' he gestured casually towards Kurt with the book he held. 'What is your name?'

'Kurt Hummel.'

'Kurt.' It tasted like wine. 'What do you think?'

'I think... I think Shylock doesn't have any ground for complaint. Not only has he victimised the Christians in the play with equal contempt, but you _can't _demand special treatment just because people don't like you. That's not how it works. He's only a victim when it suits him and he doesn't deserve any sympathy because he's not a _strong _character – the fact that he is Jewish isn't a redeeming quality in him like he might like to think, it's just something he is. Okay, it's not okay to be picked on for something you have no control over, but sometimes you have to look past the fact that a victim is a victim. He's a person, and that person isn't pleasant.' Kurt felt his cheeks turn red as Blaine studied him. His teacher nodded slowly.

'That's an interesting point, Kurt.' He looked like an angel, his voice was ice cream, he was intelligent, articulate and – Blaine was done for. He didn't know what else to say that wasn't _I love you _after Kurt finished voicing his opinion. He knew there was something in what Kurt had said though – Kurt knew more about the play and Shylock's situation than he let on and that was upsetting. If someone had been victimising Kurt like the crack in his voice had suggested then Blaine would have to make sure he never found out who, lest his kitchen knife end up in their spine. 'You obviously have an excellent grasp on the play.' He turned back to the rest of the class. 'Now, obviously in this part Shylock tries to back up his case as a victim – a phoenix rising from the ashes, if you want, someone who will overpower those who have gone against him, but Kurt has brought up an interesting conundrum. Can we sympathise with a character who has displayed such villain-like tendencies before? That's what I want you to write your essays on this week.'

Kurt immediately made a note of that title, still feeling exhilarated from talking at all to Mr. Anderson. The teacher had appreciated his thought! He felt giddy, as though Mr. Anderson had accepted an invitation to dinner instead of an opinion. And with this essay he had further room to display his extensive knowledge and _excellent grasp_ and therefore embed his abilities in Mr. Anderson's mind. Just because he couldn't _date _his teacher didn't mean he couldn't impress the Hell out of him. This was going to be the best damn essay ever.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all for feedback and thank you beautiful beta thiscanvasskin for making this fic acceptable. Love you guys.**

Blaine groaned, leaning back in his chair. Three pages of Kurt's elegant cursive sat in front of him. Firstly, the presence of anything of Kurt's in his apartment did _not _do anything to quell Blaine's fantasies of having him here (oh God, imagine, on the table) and second, this was a well-researched, well-written and articulate piece of work, but it wasn't Kurt. Well – it was Kurt, in that Kurt had written it, but then it could have been written by any intelligent seventeen year-old and that was the problem.

Kurt was definitely special, not just in his gorgeous, gorgeous looks but in his sharp wit and gifted personality; which was something Blaine had been looking forward to reading in his essay. Even though he didn't want to give any special treatment to Kurt because of his attraction towards him, he wouldn't be a teacher – the teacher that he knew he had to be – if he didn't nurture this talent of his and encourage him to be himself (because what he was, was perfect.) He _could _give an A but that _would _be unfair, because then Kurt might think that not being himself led to success, and if Kurt ever changed then the world would have lost a star.

_You've known the boy three days, _he thought to himself, grudgingly scrawling a B in the corner of the paper. _You don't feel anything for him._

Well, of course he knew that wasn't true, but at least he was trying.

Xx

Kurt's stomach flipped as he saw the grade Mr. Anderson had given his paper. He felt worms crawling under his skin, and he thought that the hot humiliation was going to make him choke. He tried _so _hard to be perfect for Mr. Anderson so he might notice him; see him as not another student, but as a talent and perhaps someone _interesting, _but no! No, he had been shot down.

_Not "shot down," Kurt, _he reprimanded himself mentally. _You didn't ask him on a _date _or anything like that. Don't be melodramatic._

Still, it didn't feel good being a B student, especially in the eyes of someone like Mr. Anderson. A B was just average to Kurt Hummel, and average was not good _at all. _Average meant blending into the background and not being noticed. Mr. Anderson wasn't average. He was a wizard or a Greek God or something, and people like that didn't think about average people at all. Kurt felt tears prick behind his eyes.

Later on as he did his hair, he'd say to himself _What were you thinking? You aren't average – Kurt Hummel is _not _average, and you can't let yourself become so hopelessly idiotic because of a guy! Even if the guy is... Mr. Anderson._

Blaine looked around at his students as they took in their grades and read through his notes. Rachel Berry, in the front row, beamed at him and shot him a thumbs-up. That footballer, Azimio, looked positively murderous. And Kurt... Oh God. He looked stricken, jaw slack, and hand rubbing his forehead as he stared down at his desk. Blaine couldn't help but feel like a monster. God, why didn't he just give the boy an A? He was clearly proud of the essay, and Blaine had trampled all over him. He couldn't leave Kurt feeling like Blaine was a jerk, he just couldn't. He had to let him know what level he was on. He stood up and walked over to Kurt, who looked up as he approached, with wide eyes. Leaning in close, Blaine spoke to him.

'Look, Kurt. I know you don't deserve a B, okay?' How could one student smell so fantastic? 'Stay behind after class – I want to talk to you about it.' Kurt nodded, but didn't speak.

The student was shaking as his teacher walked away. When the older man had leant in to talk to him, Kurt could see every pore in his skin, he could pick out each eyelash. And just for a second he let himself believe that Blaine was going to kiss him, classmates be damned; but then he started to talk, and the speech was so much better. Waves travelling from Mr. Anderson's lips straight to Kurt's ear, words that weren't meant for anyone else – they were _his _and it was only the two of them in the school.

And he admitted that Kurt didn't deserve the B! He knew that Kurt wasn't average! Kurt wasn't just shaking, he was flying and somersaulting and swooping over all of Lima, exhilarated by simple contact with the man of his dreams. He wondered what Mr. Anderson was going to say to him after class. _I knew you wouldn't be happy with the grade, Kurt. Maybe you can think of a way to earn some... extra credit? _Kurt smirked to himself and shook his head. Maybe... _Kurt, I know that you're better than a B. I know how intelligent and unique you are – in fact, you're amazing. You're everything I want in the world. _He smiled dreamily, staring at Mr. Anderson as he spoke to another student, and just let himself imagine, just for now.

Several scenes later, the lesson finished, and Kurt dawdled as the rest of the class left. He adopted a coy smile as he walked up to the desk and tried to forget how all of his daydreams had ended.

'Kurt,' Mr. Anderson smiled as he stood in front of him. _Blaine, _a letter on the desk proclaimed, and Kurt almost sighed. Blaine was the perfect name, artistic, sophisticated, the kind of name given to be written at the end of love notes and groundbreaking essays. 'I'm sure you're wondering about the grade you got on your essay.' Kurt bit his lip and nodded.

'I worked really hard on it.'

'I don't doubt that you did, Kurt.' Blaine clasped his hands together and rested them on the desk to keep himself from reaching out to the student. Kurt was looking down at him inquisitively, anxiously. He mulled over his words. 'A significant part of this course is creative writing, you know that, right? Writing words that come from your mind, not anyone else's. And that is transferrable to your essay writing in literature. You don't _have _to play by the rules, you don't have to go by each point in the outline. There is always room for further critical thought and interpretation, and you know as well as I do that breaking the mold is _awesome.' _Kurt looked slightly taken aback, breathless, even without speaking. 'So, on my part, I'll look over your paper again. But I want you to go home, open your soft copy and turn it into a Kurt essay, okay? You're the most talented kid in here, Kurt, and I want that to be nurtured.' Kurt nodded once, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

'Thank you, sir.' He nodded and Blaine nodded in return, and he headed for the door.

'Kurt?' He turned back, eyes bright. 'Stay after class on Thursday. That's when I'd like the essay.' Kurt tipped his head to the side.

'I'll have it for you tomorrow.' He left.

In the corridor, Kurt kept his composure for the few steps to the bathroom. After he pushed through the door he leaned against the wall, shaking. Tears formed in his eyes and he pressed the heels of his hands over them to try and stem.

Mr. Anderson – he thought that Kurt was talented and he knew who he was and he had _noticed him – _noticed him for something other than his girly voice and the fact that he didn't restrict himself to the men's department of certain clothes stores. God, it was the greatest feeling. It was overwhelming. Kurt had built Mr. Anderson up in his head as a hero and a God and just the best thing about being alive that week and he – he at least liked Kurt, a little, even if he wasn't attracted to him – why would he be? – but he hadn't spoken to any of the other students like that so if he was going to date one of his students then Kurt would have a pretty good chance – He had been so _close _to him, Blaine's eyes had been boring into his soul and burning a hole in his brain. And _Blaine, _Blaine, Blaine Blaine Blaine, now that he had a first name he was so much more human and yet so much more beautiful.

Kurt had somehow slipped down to the floor during his internal freak-out, and he leaned his forehead on his knees, trying to collect his thoughts. A couple of dry sobs ripped through him but he had stopped crying. Okay. _Okay. Just go home. Write your essay. For Blaine._

Xx

Blaine sighed heavily as Kurt closed the door. He was getting in far too deep here. He knew that he had more feelings for Kurt than he would like, but there was no way that he would ever be able to control them.

And, anyway – that was what good teachers did. They spoke to students, connected with them, when they had an issue or something that they wanted to talk about, and that was exactly what Blaine had done. He hadn't done anything wrong. Not yet.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Ugh, Greg. Blaine grimaced as he saw his old colleague's name appear on the screen and wondered why he didn't change his number when he left Dalton. It was a text.

_Hey Blaine! Bunch of us R meeting up Stormy's after skl 2day. Wld be gr8 2 C U there!_

He cringed at the text, his initial reaction to throw his phone out the window quelled by the formation of an idea in his head. Maybe having a few drinks was what he needed. Maybe... and God, he hated to admit it to himself, but he needed to go out. Meet someone. Or at least get terribly drunk (and let's face it, he'd need alcohol if he was hanging out with the _Dalton _staff). He quickly messaged Greg back.

_See you there._


	5. Chapter 5

__**It's been a while. I'm a despicable human being, I know. You would think, what with Christmas holidays and all - never mind. I have no excuse. Love you guys.**

**(thanks as always to lovely Vicki.)**

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit._

Blaine sat up in bed for a few seconds, the jolt of shame running through his veins as he assessed his situation. _Up an hour late; strange man in bed; head __being split in two. Okay. _He jumped out of bed and sprinted into the bathroom, pain flaring up in a very specific place, leaving the man to sleep a little longer. His shower was less than thorough; he hurriedly lathered up his hands and rubbed his armpits, his chest and stomach. He still felt disgusting as he towelled off, but the fresh smell of his shower gel woke him up that inch more and pressed him onwards. On his way to his dresser he grabbed his pillow and hit the other man with it, waking him.

'You need to leave.' He said quickly, digging out some underwear.

'Whuh?'

'Quickly. Now.' He dropped his towel and pulled the underwear on, wincing. The man groaned, rolling over in the bed. '_Hey.' _ He grabbed the corner of the duvet and tugged, exposing the man's naked form to the air.

'Jeez, I don't even get breakfast?' The man – what was his _name? – _sat up, rubbing his eyes. 'Last night must not have been as great as I thought.' Blaine paused, hands clutching the waistband of his trousers. Last night had been good – _last night. _A hot guy, a sloppy makeout in a bar and a _lot _of alcohol, leading to a blurry two rounds of sex _had _seemed like an amazing idea. To get over Kurt and get used to being with guys his own age for once, but now – now his head hurt, his ass hurt and he had a pulling ache in his chest telling him that this course of action wasn't going to make things any better. For all of five hours last night, a certain blue-eyed student of his hadn't been on his mind, but now, all he could think of was what Kurt would think, how much _better_ sex with Kurt would be and God, how it felt like he was actually cheating on Kurt.

'I'm sorry, look –' Blaine shrugged his shirt on, simultaneously grabbing for a tie in his drawer. '- I would make you breakfast, I promise, I don't usually do this kind of thing, but – I have to go and I can't leave you here.' The man – _Aiden__! _Blaine remembered triumphantly – sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He picked his underwear up off the carpet.

'For what it's worth, last night was _fantastic.' _He pulled his jeans on, before standing and walking over to Blaine. He smirked and deftly tied the teacher's tie for him. 'And you can always make me breakfast after we do it again.' Blaine stared as Aiden stepped back and retrieved his shirt from where it had been draped on a bedpost.

'I – I'll call you.' He nodded.

'I'll leave my number by the door.' Aiden picked up his jacket and grinned at Blaine. 'It was lovely meeting you, Blaine.' He leaned forward and kissed him, hand landing on the back of his head and holding him in place as he tried to gain access to Blaine's mouth with his tongue. Blaine kept his eyes open and didn't respond, but Aiden gave him a couple of seconds before pulling away.

'I'll see you soon.'

'Bye.' Blaine stared at the wall as he heard the door close, and he wondered if Aiden was the answer. He was handsome and charming, and of course it was _legal _for Blaine to have sex with him, but then – his eyes were brown. And when Blaine had quoted Hemingway in the beginnings of their conversation the previous night, those brown eyes had stared at him blankly. Maybe he just needed a few dates. Maybe he needed commitment.

His eye was caught by the light of his alarm clock, and he swore aloud.

Xx

Kurt tapped his pencil up and down on the desk rapidly. Blaine – Mr. Anderson – wasn't in yet and he didn't know why. Was it him? _Stop being so self-centred, Kurt, it's not you. Unless he knew you were staying behind after his lesson and decided he d__idn't want to know._

'One of us should go to the office and see what's wrong.' Rachel had turned to address the class, and was met by a chorus of grumbles. She rolled her eyes. 'Well, _I _care about my education.' She stood up, walking two feet away from her desk before the door slammed open.

Wow, Blaine looked... awful. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was a _mess _– and not just in that subtly almost-messy way he usually wore it – and his jacket and tie were practically falling off him. He clutched a travel mug in his hand and gulped from it deeply.

'Mr. Anderson?' Rachel asked.

'Mmm?' He stared at her, bleary-eyed. 'What's up, Rachel?' His voice was gravelly.

'Are you unwell?'

'Hmm. No. Sit down, please.' He stood at his desk, one hand adjusting his tie, the other clumsily flipping through his planner. 'Uh... Okay, class. We're gonna look at Act 3, scene 1 today. Um, just get your texts out and assign yourself parts, and just read through it.' He sat down and leaned back in his chair, slipping his scarf off and holding it between his hands, watching as Rachel stood up and organised his class for him. He blinked a couple of times before his eyes came to focus on Kurt.

Oh God, he hadn't even been thinking about Kurt. He was sure he must look a state, having spent a grand total of thirty seconds getting ready that morning instead of his usual hour. (His stomach was grumbling, too, but that was just unfortunate for him.)

Kurt took the end of his pen between his lips, tipping his head to the side as he looked at Blaine. He wondered why he looked so rough. He might have just overslept, but Kurt's head wasn't satisfied with that conclusion. Blaine was probably... probably tired from having rescued a bunch of orphans from a fire on his way to school. Or maybe he had been partying all night with a bunch of models, had ended up staying the night and only had rumpled clothes to wear. Maybe one of the models had lent him that suit and it was only rumpled because they'd been having sex in his car before the lesson. Kurt glanced out the window into the parking lot, wishing he could see which car was Blaine's, so he could check if the model was waiting for round two.

At the end of the lesson Kurt left without speaking to Blaine. The teacher had squeezed his eyes shut as the bell had rung and raked his hands through his hair, holding them there as the class emptied. Kurt suspected that conversation with him would be disappointingly less stimulating than it had been before – he didn't look like he wanted to talk to anyone. He'd come back later.

Xx

'Kurt,' Blaine smiled as Kurt walked in. The student had inexplicably _not _stayed after their lesson that day to give Blaine the new essay, and though Blaine was confused, he was grateful; having Kurt see him in such a state was bad enough, but he was sure that actually communicating with him would humiliate him beyond anything. But now, at the end of lunch, after a nap during his free period and a generous portion of pizza, Blaine was feeling good enough to be happy to see Kurt.

'Mr. Anderson.' Kurt nodded curtly. 'How are you feeling?' Blaine groaned.

'I really embarrassed myself earlier, didn't I?' He chuckled. 'I'm feeling a lot more human, thank you, Kurt.' Kurt smiled at him hesitantly.

'I – I have your essay.' Kurt took the paper out of his binder and presented it to his teacher.

'Thank you,' he took it from him and immediately started to skim the first paragraph. Kurt stayed standing over him, gripping the strap of his bag tightly. 'This looks fantastic, Kurt!' he beamed up at him. He knew it would be. 'Really, I'm so glad you were able to let yourself shine through.' Kurt matched his smile as he read on. 'I'll read through the rest of it tonight and get it back to you in tomorrow's lesson. Okay?' Kurt didn't answer for a second.

Blaine's eyes burned into his, lasers etching a face into his brain. He could see the beam shoot between them and his breath caught, as he struggled to think of anything that wasn't his beautiful teacher or those eyes. They were in love, married, soaring on cloud 9 over the moon and through the stars, across the universe. He drew in a breath.

'Do you –' His eyes were drawn to Blaine's eyebrows, which rose as he started to talk. The question _do you feel that _had been on the tip of his tongue, but stepping out of that trance he saw only a teacher, a hot teacher, a _beautiful _teacher but still a teacher, a respectable one who would never do anything with a student and _God _he was so stupid – 'Thanks. I should – go.' He seized his binder from where he'd placed it on the desk and hurried out of the classroom. Blaine didn't stop him.

Kurt found himself in the bathroom again, leaning over the sink, head in his hands, _why, why. _Why did he have to like his teacher – why couldn't he have sweet old Mrs. Tate for English? Why couldn't he control who he liked? His whole life he'd been falling in love with people he couldn't have and it wasn't _fair._

Blaine sighed as the door slammed behind Kurt, running his hands through his hair and linking them behind his neck to stretch his arms. He leaned back in his chair.

He had promised himself, no more students, not after Jeff. But there was something about Kurt; he couldn't keep away, he couldn't control himself. And Kurt felt it too. He'd been entranced when their eyes had met before. It was dazzling. The healthy thing to do would be to leave the school or switch classes, but the damage had been done. Kurt Hummel was carved into his head and he wasn't getting out anytime soon.


End file.
